


blue velvet

by tempestes (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tempestes
Summary: IN WHICH, the girl who wore blue found herself in a betrothal with the slytherin prince and can't help but fall in love.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. the betrothal

CLARISSA ROSIER shivered, a cold tendril of wind ripping through her thin gown and encasing her body with its winter chill. She forced a smile, delicately wrapped the fabric of her dress tighter around her waist in a feeble attempt to provide warmth. Though her slim arms were prickled with gooseflesh, Clarie dipped into a respectful curtsy, nodding her head with a picturesque elegance. 

“Thank you for attending, Monsieur Avery, as well to you, Madame.” The words felt rehearsed and dry in her mouth, but her tone was filled with politeness.

“Ah, yes.” Avery sniffed, his dark eyes glittering in the chandelier light. “May we offer you congratulations on turning seventeen.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I am proud to bring my family honour with such accomplishments.” Lie. Lie. Lie. Clarie’s throat bobbed but she brushed her hand across her heart.

“I’m sure you will.” Madame Avery’s lip curled as her eyes flicked to the navy gown adorning Clarie’s body. Clarie made an effort not to squirm under the woman’s disdainful gaze.

Clearing her throat, Clarie gestured to the small box in the Avery Heir’s hands. “I am excited to see what the generous gift you have given me is. I am truly thankful.” The words felt bitter in Clarie’s mouth, but the Avery’s preened. “I can call an elf to take if from you, if you please.”

“That would be lovely.” Avery said, casting his son a pointed glare. The boy stepped forward, handing Clarie the golden wrapper gift. With another nod, Clarie took the box and murmured demurely. “Thank you very much, I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

With a few meaningless words, the Avery’s stepped away, slipping into the crowd of socialites in the ballroom. Clarie stood at the top of a marble staircase, grand doors flung wide in front of her, the snow falling heavily outside not making it past the charms. Unfortunately, they did not prevent the cold that wracked Clarie to her core. 

“Lune.” Clarie murmured quietly, her voice a mere breath. In an instant, an elf appeared. Peering up at Clarie with, her eyes coloured like raging thunder clouds, the elf skittered into a bow. Lune adjusted the pastel pink rose pinned to the lapel of her white towel fashioned into a dress.

“Mademoiselle Rosier?” The elf squeaked. Clarie winced at the name, a barely concealed grimace flashing across her face. 

“Please take this and put it in my wing.” Clarie ordered softly, handing Lune the box. Nodding, Lune vanished with a crack, taking the gift with her.

“Blimey, I forgot how clean your elves are.” A voice drifted up the staircase, dripping with lilting amusement. Clarie bit her lip, joy wiping away her previous falsity like the sun wiping darkness from the night sky. Turning on her heel, Clarie’s eyes found a pair filled with laughter. 

Striding up the stairs, a girl smirked. Her crimson hair flowed around her waist like flames licking the sky. A matching sash covered her slim waist, separating the tight bodice from the explosion of steel coloured skirts billowing around her ankles. Though her pale shoulders were bare, long sleeve were sinched tightly around her upper arms, and brushing against her fingertips. Clarie grinned, her eyes lighting up as she watched the girl make her way to the top of the stairs.

“Mother likes things clean.” Clarie’s laugh wasn’t faked, she rushed forward, clasping her arms around the girl in a tight embrace. The girl hugged her back, pressing a kiss to Clarie’s cheek.

“Well, someone missed me.” The girl chuckled, tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder.

“Merde, you can’t imagine.” Clarie replied, her voice coloured with dramatic annoyance. The girl snorted, her pale nose crinkling up with affection. “You look lovely, Lyra.” Clarie continued, tugging on one of the draping sleeves on her friend’s gown.

“Don’t start.” Lyra warned, pointing her red painted finger at Clarie’s face. “My mother wants me to find a suitor,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

“What about the Nott boy?” Clarie asked, raising her eyebrow. “The one with the brown eyes. You seemed to like him well enough.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “He tried to teach me Quidditch last week,” Clarie covered her mouth in a feeble attempt to mask her snort, “then, he got upset when I showed him up and nearly doubled the points he got. He threw a hissy fit and everything. Went and told Mother that he’d sooner rot in Azkaban than marry me.”

“Seems a little extreme, although boys are very sensitive.” Clarie chuckled, amusement dripping from her words. “You never liked him anyways,” she added, “he was too self absorbed.”

“I suppose,” Lyra said, frowning, “but my options are running out and I truly don’t want to wed a Malfoy.” She sighed, shaking her head. “My love life is not what we are supposed to be talking about right now. You are officially an adult now, we need to go out to a Muggle bar with Thal and Emie soon.”

Clarie’s eyes widened, glancing over her shoulder fearfully. “Not so loud.” She hissed. “Anyone could be listening. I have half a thought that the walls have ears. And eyes for that matter.” 

Lyra’s eyes flicked from side to side before she offered Clarie a small nod. “Let’s discuss it later.”

Slipping her arm around the crook of Lyra’s elbow, Clarie led the girl down the staircase, her white heels clicking against the floor. Lyra offered Clarie a conspirator’s grin, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “So Clar, how’s your love life?” 

Clarie’s cheeks flushed, ducking her head. A strand of hair fell over her face, curling over her cheek. “I beg your pardon?” She asked, flustered.

“You heard me.” Lyra replied, winking. Her caramel coloured eyes glowed in the torches, a Cheshire grin dancing across her painted lips.

“It’s . . .” Clarie sighed, “Mother keeps reminding me of how disappointing I am. She believes that I will never find a ‘proper, pureblood husband.’” She trailed off, her voice falling silent.

“But?” Lyra prodded, nudging her friend with her elbow.

“But, I don’t know.” Clarie bit her lip, running her teeth along the soft skin. “Recently, she has been acting peculiar. Talking less about potential suitors and more about how a purebred Lady acts as a wife.” Exhaling softly, Clarie turned to her friend. “Maybe I’m overthinking this, but I have a feeling that something is going to happen.” She ran her along the navy fabric of her gown. “Perhaps I’m going crazy.”

Lyra was silent for a moment, staring at the too tight sash around her waist. “I suppose something is bound to happen—life goes on, it’s inevitable—but the question is what it will be.” Leading Clarie through the crowds of dancing aristocrats, Lyra pursed her lips. “Although, that’s not the only question.”

Clarie glanced at her friend, her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the other question?”

“Why, it’s whether or not you’ll help eat all the desserts at this party?” Lyra grinned, snatching a pastry off a china platter. “Eclair?” she asked, gesturing to the china platter filled with chocolate covered delicacies. 

The tension in Clarie’s eyes faded as she gently smiled. “I would love one.” Clarie chuckled, taking a pastry for herself.

“We are friends for a number of reasons,” Lyra began, a smirk spread wide across her face, “but mostly because of the extraordinary food served at your Father’s parties.”

“Pig.” Clarie said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as Lyra grabbed two more.

“How you wound me.” Lyra retorted dryly. Clarie giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Glancing down at her gown, Clarie smothered a smile. The navy bodice was bordered with ivory thread, snow white lace bloomed from the deep neckline, brushing against her chest and lining the long, midnight sleeves and layers skirts floating along the marble floors. Patterns of roses were embroidered across her gown in decorations of bone coloured beads and stitching.

“It’s beautiful, by the way.” Lyra said, gesturing to the dress. “You look like the night sky.”

Clarie adjusted the gauzy fabric along her chest, a proud look glimmering in her eyes. “Thank you, you look ethereal. The grey looks lovely with your hair.”

“I know.” Lyra declared smugly, shrugging her shoulders. 

Clarie opened her mouth, a retort on her tongue and mirth dancing in her eyes. Her words fell silent as a warm hand clasped her shoulder. She slowly turned, a perfected facade etched onto her face. 

“Evan!” she exclaimed, exhaling softly. “You look lovely.” Peering up at her older brother, Clarie couldn’t help but admire the olive coloured vest. Golden leaves and whorls we’re embroidered into the velvet fabric, glinting in the chandelier light. His ash gray robes hung from his shoulders, the gold clasp at his throat. Combed back elegantly, his chocolate coloured hair curled around his ears, matching his eyes as they gleamed with cunning cleverness.

“Thank you Clarissa, as do you. Father and Mother require your presence.” Evan’s voice was monotonous as he adjusted the sleeve of his robe. 

Casting a worried glance toward Lyra, Clarie tentatively asked. “Whatever for?”

“I know as much as you.” Evan extended his arm politely, model grace and regality in his posture. Clarie met his eyes, a disbelieving look on her face. “And a little more.” Evan admitted. His eyes filled with affection, coldness disappearing from his face as the corners of his lips bent into a smile.

Clarie took Evan’s arm, nodding politely towards Lyra. “I will seek you out afterwards.” 

As the siblings wove their way through the throngs of people, exchanging depthless pleasantries with the attendees, Clarie turned expectantly to Evan. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Evan responded, bowing his head to the Mulciber Heir.

“Well, why does Father need me?” Clarie asked, her brow furrowing.

“Father and Mother.” Evan corrected, smiling charmingly down at Clarie. He led her towards an oriental door hidden amongst the murals of roses decorating the walls.

“Stop avoiding the question!” Clarie hissed with annoyance. “Why are we going up to the balcony?”

“To see Father and Mother.” Evan chuckled, turning the golden doorknob in his hand.

“Evan.” Clarie jerked her hand off her brother’s arm, halting her footsteps and glaring up at him.

“Clarie.” Evan met her eyes, running his tongue along his teeth. Crossing her arms, an unimpressed frown was written plainly on Clarie’s face.

“What is going on?” Clarie pressed, her chest rising and falling quickly. 

Evan took Clarie’s hand, leading her into the small room beyond the door. “It would be better if Mother explained.”

Clarie’s eyes widened, her shoulders tensing. “Evan, what is going on?” She ground out.

“It will all be okay.” Sadness flickered across Evan’s face, but his voice didn’t waver. He tugged on Clarie’s hand, pulling her up the wooden stairwell. 

Her heart pounded, the unsure feeling in her stomach roiling and thrashing viciously. Clarie’s hands curled into fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her hands. She savoured the pain, let it ground her as she rose to the top of the stairwell.

Standing in the alcove off the balcony, Clarie’s mother and father stood, poised and regal. Jacqueline Rosier stared down at her daughter, her eyes unfeeling and cold. Fashioned into a stunning crown, her golden hair was pulled tightly away from her pale face. Clarie sweeped into a curtsy, bowing her head to her parents.

Evan slipped beside his mother, the calculated mask adorning his face once more. The perfect family. Bile coated Clarie’s throat as Jacqueline Rosier spoke. “Clarissa, this is the Black family.”

Clarie turned, finally noticing the three people standing by the wall. Orion Black’s pale skin glowed sallow in the dim light, his gleaming black hair slicked into submission; the sneer on his face, cruel and practiced. With her hand clinging tightly to her husband’s arm, Walburga Black glared down at Clarie, her lips curled back in a poor attempt of a smile. Despite herself, Clarie felt a shiver snake down her spine as she curtseyed low.

“This is the Black Heir, Regulus.” Jacqueline continued, sweeping her hand towards the boy. Clarie blinked at him. His polished expression—void of emotion—reeked of court-trained cunning. He nodded his head dutifully towards her, a strand of his raven-black hair falling in front of his face. The perfect posturing set him clearly as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Yet his eyes made Clarie pause, they glinted the colour of honey, flecked with emerald green, something fragile and desperate shone through the emotionless facade. So carefully hidden, but fear, as Clarie knew all too well, was impossible to hide.

“Hello Monsieur, Madame, Regulus.” Clarie said, her mouth dry. “It is an honour to have you attending.”

“It is an honour to be here, Clarissa.” Regulus said, his voice surprisingly soft.

Clarie opened her mouth, a feeble reply on the tip of her tongue as her mother cut her off. “As you are now an adult, Clarissa, it is important to secure an alliance within the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” 

Clarie’s heart pounded, her eyes darting around the room. “Oh?” Her voice trembled, dread pooling in her stomach.

“Madame Black has shown interest in an alliance between the Rosiers and the Blacks.” Jacqueline continued, pride radiating from her eyes. “As the most wealthy and powerful wizard of families of France and England, we have decided that an alliance would be very beneficial.”

“Allied through . . .” Clarie trailed off, glancing at her brother for confirmation. 

“Marriage.” Walburga’s voice oozed selfish delight as she rested her hand on Regulus’ shoulder. His eyes glinted with sadness, but his courtly expression did not waver.

“Oh.” Clarie said again, colour leeching from her face. Relief for the creams painted onto her skin echoed through Clarie’s heart as she hid her trembling hands within the folds of her dress.

“We will announce your betrothal as the clock strikes ten.” Tristan, her father, said. His broad shoulders and tan skin reflected the similarities between him and Evan, though his eyes held none of the laughter that his son’s did.

“Regulus shall propose and you shall accept.” Clarie wasn’t foolish enough to believe her mother’s words were anything but a warning. “A perfect birthday gift.”

Clarie nodded, her mind whirling with thoughts. She exhaled a shaky breath, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Ducking her head, Clarie bit her lip, fear glinting in her eyes.

The sound of footsteps against wood echoed through Clarie’s thoughts as Regulus approached her. A pale hand jutted into her vision. “Clarissa.” Regulus murmured. Her name sounded odd on his tongue.

Raising her head, Clarie softly placed her hand into Regulus’, his cool skin a welcome relief from the blood boiling beneath her skin. “Thank you.” her voice was a mere whisper.

Reaching into his pocket, Tristan pulled out a golden pocket watch, the methodical ticking pounding to the beat of Clarie’s heart. He held it up in the dim light, peering at the glass face. “Ah, let us head up.”

Offering his arm to Jacqueline, Tristan strode up to the balcony above the ballroom, a proud sneer on both their faces. Walburga and Orion followed quickly behind them, along with Evan, Clarie and Regulus bringing up the rear.

Clarie’s heart lurched into her throat as she peered down at the throng of people. The silk gowns, the gleaming pearls, the crystal flutes of sparkling wine, the cold murmur of the crowds as they exchanged false pleasantries. It roared up at her, screaming and biting into her head.

Clarie sensed them quiet down, staring up at her with lethal intelligence. Jacqueline stepped forward, a simpering smile on her face. She gently rested her hand on the wooden banister as she waited for the crowd to silence completely. 

“Good evening, I hope you all are enjoying yourself with the party. My heart is overwhelmed with pride for my daughter.” Each word was a lie, the deceit painted on her face dripping from her words like venom off a snake’s fangs. “Along with Tristan, my love, we are honoured to announce a betrothal between Clarissa, my daughter, and Regulus Black.”

The words clanged through Clarie as the people below clapped politely. Carefully veiled disappointment shone on a number of faces, plans to discuss marriages with the Rosiers and Blacks vanishing with each word. 

Clarie could see Walburga’s lips moving, but the words fell silent in her ears. It was as though she were underwater, sounds were muted and blurred. Her eyes rove through the crowds, desperately seeking a familiar face. 

Lyra’s crimson hair shone brightly amongst the dark gowns and darker expressions. Her face shone with worry, her lips moved, repeating the same words over and over. Breathe. Breathe Clar, breathe.

Inhaling sharply, Clarie pasted a serene smile on her face, forcing pride to flash across her face. A girl who got the prize, a simple enough facade. 

“. . . pride for many years to come.” Walburga finished her speech, not bothering to hide her smirk. Her voice turned quiet as she murmured to her son. “Regulus, if you will.” 

Clarie watched as Orion pressed a silver ring into Regulus’ hand. Slipping his hand into Clarie’s, Regulus pulled her up to the banister. In a fluid movement, he slid to his knee, holding the ring up the Clarie. “Clarissa Rosier,” Regulus’ voice sounded forced, he swallowed, “will you do the honour of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

“Regulus Black,” Clarie’s hand shook as she extended it toward the outstretched ring. “Regulus Black, I will marry you.” 

The words felt like chains, the ring slipped onto her finger like a shackle. Her heart fell into her stomach as Regulus rose to his feet, resting his hand on her hip, tugging her against him with a mechanical motion.

Her knees felt weak and a gust of icy wind blew toward her, encasing her body in tremors. She jutted her hands out, clutching the banister with trembling hands. Her eyes were drawn to the ring, it’s presence overwhelming and unwanted on her hand. The slim band wrapped around her finger, a opal embedded into the centre, spirals of diamonds wrapping around the opal and twisting in an infinity symbol along her finger. She suppressed a sob, she knew she wouldn’t be Clarrissa Rosier anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much or reading my book! i have a plan but my writing sucks so lets see how this goes lmao


	2. conversations and rose gardens

SHE WAS IN a field of flowers. Soft petals brushing against her fingertips. Azure, magenta and scarlet blended together like paint across a canvas. Her feet were bare, as she walked through the soft grass, dew and moisture clinging to her toes. 

She laughed, her voice ringing through the sky with delight. The sound reverberated through her body, wrapping around her heart like a blanket wrapped around a child’s shoulders. She laughed again, letting her voice grow full.

Her chest rose and fell as she gasped in breaths of fresh, cool air. She felt as if she had been created anew, free and wild. Unbound, her hair flowed around her, a curtain of carmel hanging to her waist. 

The dress was simple, made of pure white cotton, delicate leaves woven into the hem with emerald thread. It swayed against her knees in a warm breeze. She smiled, true and genuine, the intoxicating smell of flowers wafting through the wind.

Her feet sinking into the grass, she tore up the hill. Hair snapped out behind her, her dress rode up her thighs as she ran. 

Standing still, she breathed in deeply, letting her chest rise and fall to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her eyes grew wide as she stared out at the sea of flowers. Hills rolled as far as she could see—lilies, hyacinths, daisies—the aroma overwhelming her senses and devouring her thoughts. 

It left nothing but content.

She fell to her knees. Damp earth coating her knees, her shins, her feet. Reaching over, she gently ran her thumb along the petal of a tulip, the flesh smooth against her finger. It’s saffron petals gleamed in the rays of the sun, thin veins shining through the translucent skin.

As if a feather brushing across the corner of her mind, a whisper rang through her head. She blinked, shaking her head, her eyes clearing. 

Beside the tulip, an orchid. It’s bowed head filled with an unspoken beauty. She trailed her finger along the curved stem, serenity glowing in her eyes.

But the whisper flashed through her mind. A word. A name. She hissed, bringing her hand up to her ear.

The voice was soft, sweet and gentle. 

“Clarissa . . . Clarissa . . .”

She stumbled to her feet, the flowers around her blurring together. Lavender, narcissa, roses. Roses. Rushing forward, she clasped her hands around the rose, bringing it up to nose. She inhaled the saccharine scent. 

“Clarissa . . .”

It suffocated her, unforgiving and violent. Like the venom and honey, dangerously sweet. She choked, jerking her hands away from the flower. Sharp pain tore in her hand, she unsteadily brought it up to her face. 

“Clarissa . . . Clar . . .”

A drop of blood bloomed in her palm. The exact colour of the rose. Hot tears pricked her eyes, she blinked them away quickly; biting her lip to stop it trembling. 

“issa . . . Clarissa . . . Clarissa . . .”

Blood pools in her hand, glittering with malice. A cloud floats in front of the sun, darkening the world around her. She swallowed back a sob, her unharmed hand slamming into the dirt behind her, propping her up. 

“Clarissa . . .”

Jagged rocks and roots filled the soil, slicing into her hand. She bit back a scream, cradling her hands in her lap. Warm blood stains her dress, staining the skirt scarlet, like rubies and roses in the snow.

“Clarissa . . .”

The voice grew urgent as the world around her blurs. Her eyesight flashes between the endless flowers and a dimly lit staircase. Her head pounds as the flowers merge together like paint blended together or the stars glimmering in the galaxies above.

“Clarissa . . . Clarissa . . .”

Something clasped her hand. Searing pain laced up her arm and she winced violently, stumbling blindly into a patch of chrysanthemums.

“Clarissa . . .”

She shook her head, leaning into the invisible hand wrapped around her own. The name flashed through her head. Clarissa . . . Clarissa . . . Clarissa. 

“Clarissa . . .”

She was Clarissa. She wasn’t here, the hills of flowers weren’t real. The blood and roses weren’t real. 

Exhaling sharply, she blinked, willing the flowers to disappear. They slowly faded from sight, leaving her nothing. 

CLARIE STARED down at her hand, her skin smooth and unharmed. No blood spotted her dress and the poisoned honey smell of the flowers slowly faded from her nose.

“Clarissa?” Evan asked, his voice filled with worry. “Are you unwell?”

“No,” She murmured, her vision clearing. “I was just lost in thought.” 

Noticing her hands still looped through her brother’s, Clarie snatched it away. She rubbed her nose, peering down the staircase. It was void of anyone except the Rosier siblings.

“Daydreaming again?” Evan chuckled, though uncertainty flashed in his eyes. 

“Oh, hush up.” Clarie hissed, her cheeks flushed. “Where is Mother and Father? And the Blacks.” She added after a beat.

“Down the stairs. You froze up, I told Mother you needed a moment to collect your thoughts.”

“Merci.” Clarie said, smoothing out her silk skirts.

“Of course.” Evan grinned impishly. He slung his arm around Clarie’s shoulders, leading her down the stairs.

Clarie pasted a neutral expression onto her face, ignoring the nerves threatening to burst from her chest.

Trailing her hand along the wooden banister, Clarie felt the flower field burning into her memory. She desperately searched her mind, clasping dreams and thoughts of pleasantries, only for them to slip from her fingers like water through a grate. The lacerations on her hands and her blood dripping from the rose’s thorn branded her eyelids, flashing through her mind every time she closed her eyes.

Her feet found marble, the heels of her shoes clicking against the white floors. Glancing up, Clarie bowed her head to her Mother and Father. 

The familiar weight of Evan’s arm lifted from her shoulders as he straightened beside her.

“Have you cleared your mind?” Tristan sneered, a bitter look embedded in his eyes.

“Oui, Father.” Clarie said softly, lacing her fingers together. 

Jacqueline sniffed, opening her mouth to speak.

“Mother, Father,” Evan interrupted smoothly. “If I may, I suggest letting Clarissa and Regulus sit in the gardens together. So they can introduce themselves to provide a more united front.”

Orion exchanged a look with Walburga, his eyebrows furrowed. Clarie felt Regulus’ eyes boring into her, but she kept her eyes focused on her hands.

“I see no problem with that.” Walburga admitted.

Jacqueline clapped her hands together, her long nails clicking together. “Wonderful. Now, let us go out to the ball.”

She opened the door, exiting the room with a proud smirk. Regulus turned to Clarie, offering his arm. “Lady,” he murmured.

“Merci, thank you.” Clarie said quietly, resting her hand lightly on his arm. Together, they strode into the ballroom. 

Clarie hid a wince as the people around them began to clap. Bitter congratulations rang up through the crowd as Clarie and Regulus made their way toward the grand marble staircase. 

The ring weighed down her hand, an uncomfortable band around her finger. Clarie’s eyes latched onto it, her head aching. 

People stared, their eyes clouded over with jealousy. Glittering jewels and beautiful silks blurred together, the vast range of colours all too similar to the flowers in her dreams

Clarie’s cheeks burned with discomfort as the doors swung open. A gust of winter wind blew toward Clarie, a shiver running down her spine. 

Murmurs rose up from the crowds as Clarie and Regulus walked into the gardens. As the doors slammed closed behind them, Clarie dropped her hand, taking a step away from Regulus. “This way are the greenhouses.” She said forcedly.

Without checking to see if Regulus was following, Clarie made her way into the towering glass greenhouse. She let out a sigh, letting the warmth seep through her gown.

Clarie wove her way through the rows of roses. Snow covered the roof, casting rays of moonlight dancing across the red, pink and white flowers. Below the glass dome at the centre of the roof, a golden bench sat, roses and thorn carved into the metal. 

Delicately sitting down, Clarie turned to Regulus. “You can sit as well, there is plenty of room.” She said, sliding back.

“Thank you.” Regulus murmured, awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bench. His cheeks coloured pink as he stared at Clarie. 

Clarie shifted in her gown, setting her eyes on a red rose, much like the one in her dream. She winced, phantom pain piercing her hands.

“Are you alright, Clarissa?” Regulus asked hesitantly.

“Oh,” A blush crept up her cheeks, “um, yes.” 

Deafening silence hung in the air. Regulus coughed quietly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Did you know?” Clarie asked finally, turning toward her betrothed.

“Know what?” Regulus replied, his hazel eyes flashing.

“About this . . .” Clarie bit her lip, searching for the word. “This betrothal.”

Regulus sighed, shaking his head. A strand of ebony hair fell onto his brow. “I did not. Did you?”

“No, I had a feeling, but . . .”

The silence resumed as Clarie trailed off, wringing her fingers in her lap.

“Your hair looks lovely.” Regulus said, his ears flushing red.

Clarie reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her golden brown hair was twisted into a loose braid down her back, baby’s breath and crystals were woven into it, sparking in the moonlight. Two strands framed her face, curling loosely around her cheeks. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Regulus glanced up at the glass roof. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Clarie repeated, tracing her finger along the roses etched into the bench.

Regulus opened his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue. But he shut his mouth glancing away.

“Tell me about yourself, Regulus.” Clarie asked. “Please.”

“Well,” Regulus adjusted the lapels of his robes. “I am seventeen, the Slytherin Prefect. I am on the Slytherin Quidditch team as Seeker. My favourite class is Transfiguration and I like dark chocolate.” He finished lamely, his voice growing soft.

Clarie forced a smile, nodding. “I am seventeen, as well. I am the Ravenclaw Prefect, I am not on the Quidditch Team. My favourite class is Herbology and I like roses.” She said awkwardly, her face burning.

“Are roses a family thing?” 

“Yes, they are. Rosier means rose in French and these gardens have been passed down from generation to generation.” Clarie’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “My Grandmere adores them, so do I. Even the family tree in my Father’s book isn’t a tree at all, instead a rose bush. The gardens around this estate are beautiful, but they pale in comparison to the ones in our other manor. I—” Clarie frowned, ducking her head. “My apologies, I’m rambling.”

“I don’t mind.” Regulus said quickly. “Where is your other manor?”

“It’s our home in France,” Clarie explained, “where I was born. It is by the seaside. On one side you can see the ocean over a cliff and the other overlooks the roses. They go on for miles. It’s perfect. There are roses of all colours, colours you wouldn’t think roses would even be. The smell of salt water and roses is . . . is . . .” as she searched for the word, Clarie’s brow furrowed. “It’s indescribable.”

The corners of Regulus’ lips curled upward. “Beautiful seems like an understatement.”

“It is.” Clarie sighed softly. “What is The Black Manor like?”

Regulus’ eyes flashed. “It’s an honour to live in our manor.”

“I bet it is very regal..” Clarie said politely.

“Indeed it is.” 

Clarie swallowed uncomfortably, glancing down. Her eyes found the silver ring on her finger, her content smile falling as she started down at the opal and diamonds.

Regulus trailed her gaze, his eyes fastening onto the ring as well. He barely masked his frown. “Clarissa?” 

“Yes?” 

“We should go back to the party before someone becomes worried.” 

Clarie rose to her feet, adjusting her skirts. “Al-alright.”

Regulus rose to his feet as well, offering Clarie his arm. Her throat bobbed as she placed her hand at the crook of his elbow. Heart sinking lower into her stomach, Clarie bit her lip, letting the sharp burst of pain centre her thoughts.

They slipped out of the greenhouse, into the awaiting snow. Clarie shivered, a snowflake landing on the tip of her nose. Her face burst into a grin and she tilted her head back, staring up at the endless night. 

Heavy, grey clouds hung in the sky, blocking out the stars. The moon, gleaming full and bright shone through the clouds, casting a silver glow down on Clarie and Regulus. Large snowflakes slowly twirled like ballerinas pirouetting through the sky, landing on the thick layers of snow already coating the ground.

Clarie picked up the hem of her skirts with one hand, dampness already seeping into the fabric. She bit back a laugh, her lips curving even more. Regulus cleared his throat, “Shall we go back?”

With her cheeks turning pink, Clarie nodded. She had stopped walking, her hand still resting on Regulus’ arm. He stood a couple steps in front of her, fickle amusement in his eyes.

The two strode into the doorway, warmth exploding from the ballroom, the sound of voices rising with it. Clarie couldn’t stop the sigh of relief as the gooseflesh on her skin went down. Regulus chuckled quietly, glancing at the honey haired girl out of the corner of his eye. His back straightened as the crowds quieted, noticing Clarie and Regulus. Gently nudging Clarie with his elbow, Regulus plastered an elegant smile on his face. 

Hesitantly, people made their way forward, barely concealed resent dripping from their congratulations. The dimming light of the candles in the chandelier, the bitter smirks and too tight handshakes. It all made Clarie’s head spin. She fought the bile coating her throat, nodding and smiling politely. People blurred together, their expensive robes and bitter words all too similar.

“. . . Clar.” An impatient voice cut through her haze. Clarie shook her head softly, clearing her mind. She glanced up, a relieved smile spreading across her face.

“Lyra,” she exclaimed. Clarie pulled her hand off Regulus’ arm, clutching the girl’s hands in her own.

“I said your name three times.” Lyra snorted.

“Carrow.” Regulus said coldly, jerking his head into a small nod.

“Hello, Black.” Lyra smirked, fixing her gaze on the boy with malice oozing from her features.

Clarie’s eyes flicked between the two, gently squeezing Lyra’s hands. “Lyra,” She murmured warningly.

“What!” Lyra exclaimed, “I’m not going to do anything.”

Regulus scoffed, glaring at Lyra. He mumbled something, too quiet for Clarie to hear.

“Do you have a problem?” Lyra snapped.

“With you? Plenty.” Regulus crossed his arms

“Then say it.” Lyra took a step forward, her eyes glimmering with anger. “Or if you're too scared, you can always go hide behind your family name.”

“Lye,” Clarie hissed. “Now is not the time.” She glared pointedly at her best friend, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Lyra hummed in annoyance, turning to Clarie. “I came to offer my most humble congratulations.” She lowered her voice. “Also to tell you to check your fire at midnight.” 

With a wink, Lyra strode back into the crowd. Clarie turned to Regulus, her eyes flashing. “What exactly is your problem with Lyra?” She ground out, pulling him aside.

“She’s got a reputation in Slytherin.” Regulus frowned.

“And what is her reputation?” Clarie crossed her arms, glaring daggers at Regulus.

A flush spotted Regulus’ cheeks and he shifted on his feet. “She sleeps around . . . with muggleborns.”

Clarie inhaled sharply. “You are disgusting. Who my friend sleeps with is none of your business and if she slept with a million people, it would not be anything against her. And if you think that someone is lesser than you because of their heritage, I want no association with you or your bigoted views..” Clarie turned on her heel. “Now, I am tired and I am going to retire to my suite. Good night.”

Without waiting for Regulus to reply, Clarie strode up to her mother, murmuring something and vanishing from the hall, anger and disgust rippling from her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways, regulus is kinda a jerk and highkey hates lyra but for oTHER reasons . . .


End file.
